


Things to Not Mention in the Toast

by KateKintail



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Desperation, M/M, Masturbation, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-15
Updated: 2014-01-15
Packaged: 2018-01-08 19:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateKintail/pseuds/KateKintail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desperation fic with the Quidditch men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things to Not Mention in the Toast

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Goodness gracious, this world and its characters don’t belong to me

Oliver Wood came awake slowly, reluctantly. Before he opened his eyes, he could tell they were still winding their way through the countryside. The road was bumpy and soft, winding gently one way and then the other. Snuggled up in the passenger seat of the car, under a warm tartan blanket and feeling the warm mid-day sun on his cheeks, he considered allowing himself to fall right back to sleep. But he heard a grunt to his right and, curious, he opened his eyes. “Hey, baby. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Marcus Flint replied through gritted teeth, sounding not the least bit believable. 

Oliver stretched, folded up the blanket, and threw it in the back seat, which was already piled with their luggage. His mouth felt dry, so he grabbed his bottle of fizzy soda and took a few sips. He ran his hand across his mouth and stifled a yawn. “So how long was I asleep?” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and considered, once more, going back to sleep for just a little longer. That warm sun coming in through the glass was so comforting. 

“Couple hours,” said Flint, his response having graduated from one word to two. 

Pretty sure he could get three words out of the man, Oliver pulled his seatbelt loose, leaned over, and kissed the man’s cheek. The stubble was light, but tough. Marcus had some magical trick when it came to shaving. Even after he shaved his face, it still looked like he hadn’t shaved in two days. So sexy. “I love you,” Oliver whispered.

Flint eyed him sideways, not taking his eyes off the road for more than a split second. “Love you, too.” There it was. Three words this time. 

Not sure he wanted to press his luck and go for four words, Oliver relaxed back in his seat. “Thanks for driving, by the way. With all the traveling I’ve been doing with Puddlemere, I was more exhausted than I thought.”

Flint grunted. He was back down to not even a single word now. 

Oliver wasn’t sure what to say next, so he sat for a while and watched the hills and valleys pass them by. Pretty soon they’d be up high in the Scottish mountains and, a few hours after that, he’d be back home. He’d never taken any boy home before, and he certainly never thought the first would be Marcus Flint. He wasn’t sure his family was going to like him, but Oliver wasn’t concerned. Even if they hated him at first, they’d grow to love him; Oliver sure as heck had. And, even more implausibly, Flint loved him back. Oliver felt damn good to have him. 

However… it didn’t look as though Flint felt damn good. The man hadn’t stopped grimacing since Oliver had woken up, apart from the brief, loving sentiment that had been less of a declaration and more of a knee jerk reaction. Something was definitely wrong. “Flint, are you pissed about having to go to this wedding with me?”

“Don’t say that,” Flint whispered under his breath. Then he cleared his throat. “I’m fine, Wood. I told you I’d go.”

Oliver nodded. He had, in fact. That wasn’t the end of it, though, was it? “But…?”

“But I don’t understand why the wedding has to be all the way out in the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s not the middle of nowhere.” Oliver tried to keep the defensive tone out of his voice, but only barely succeeded in that. “It’s where I grew up.” 

Flint continued, “Same difference. And I don’t understand why we have to drive all the way there.” 

They’d been through all this already. In fact, they’d had this conversation no fewer than eight times since Oliver brought up the idea of attending his little sister’s wedding. He had thought by now, Flint understood it. Maybe he didn’t like it, but surely he understood it. “Rebecca’s husband is a muggle, and all the members in his family are muggles. He knows, and most of them know, about magic. But she feels it’s better not to do anything magical or flaunt it in front of them. The last thing we need is for the wedding to turn into some crazy circus or media show because one person had a wand out to cut the cake.”

Flint didn’t respond, which made Oliver nervous. His first thought—which he hated himself for—was that pureblood, Slytherin Flint was going to have a problem mingling well with so many muggles. He wondered if Flint had ever even been around a hundred muggles at one time. But then Oliver hated himself for thinking it of his lover. Flint had proven to him time and time again that he wasn’t that kind of man. Flint didn’t judge muggles that way. And Oliver felt bad for having even thought of judging Flint. 

“Let’s just enjoy the ride,” Oliver suggested. 

Flint sighed deeply. “Easy enough for you to say. You had a nice little nap all morning while I was doing the navigating and driving all by myself.” 

“Navigating? There’s a spell on the car for that. We can’t go wrong.” 

Flint shrugged. “We’d go a lot faster if we could just apparate nearby. Doesn’t have to be near the house or even in the village. Couldn’t we apparate to the general area and save hours of driving?”

“Suggests the man who has never apparated around here. First of all, you know it’s not reliable for long distances, and around here you’re more likely to apparate inside a mountain as on top of solid ground. You’ve got to have a really good idea of where you’re going or you’ll die and you’ve never even been here before. It’s just not a good idea. No one around here apparates.”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” Flint spoke through teeth, as though holding back his fury. Oliver could only remember seeing him like this on a few occasions, and those had either been about particularly bad Quidditch calls or his family.

His family. That must be it. Oliver wanted to reach over and pet Flint, but he knew the man wouldn’t appreciate that, not if he were upset and trying to deal with his demons. They both had ghosts in their pasts. Oliver’s ghosts came in the forms of people he loved who had been killed by death eaters, while Flint’s came in the forms of family members who had been death eaters. Maybe going to this wedding and meeting Oliver’s family for the first time was really getting to him. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you along,” muttered Oliver. 

Marcus sighed with a gruffness in his voice, sounding frustrated. “Now you think I’m not good enough to meet your family?”

“I didn’t say anything of the sort! I wouldn’t have asked you to come along if I didn’t want you to meet them. ”

“And I wouldn’t have dropped everything to come with you if I didn’t want to be here. ’Sides, if I weren’t here, who’d do the driving?”

Oliver cracked a smile at that. Who knew that pureblood Marcus Flint was such a good driver of muggle cars? Oliver could handle them well enough when he needed to, but this seemed to be second nature to Flint, despite his complaining.

Oliver reached over, risking stroking Flint’s left arm. “All I meant was that you’re clearly not having a good time.” Flint’s lips were pursed. And his hand reached down to rub his thigh. That was all that Oliver needed. “Oh, I get it.”

Flint swallowed. “You do?”

“Yeah.” Oliver reached down, took hold of the end of his kilt, and flapped it in demonstration. “They might be traditional, but kilts do take some getting used to. And they’re not for sensitive little flowers. Is the wool too scratchy?”

Flint growled. He actually growled. “Do I look like a sensitive little flower to you?” 

“Hardly,” Oliver smirked. He fingered his own kilt, then reached over and took hold of part of Flint’s. “You look damn sexy. Like I could just reach under that kilt…” He started to do just that. “And help myself to your—”

“Don’t!” Flint pulled away to keep Oliver’s hand from his privates. In doing so, he jerked the steering wheel and the car went into the next lane, facing oncoming traffic. Oliver shouted, Flint swore and overcorrected. They came dangerously close to running off the road and right into a ditch. But he straightened out and kept his eyes on the road. But his grimace and gasp indicated something else was wrong. And, as soon as he was steady behind the wheel again, he rubbed at his thigh once more. 

“Merlin, Flint. What’s with you?” Oliver took another swig of his soda.

Flint took a deep breath. Then he squeaked out, “Gotta pee.”

Oliver almost sprayed the soda all over the dashboard in laughter, but he pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to catch the first few drops and remained in control of himself. Oliver took a second to process the thought; he wasn’t sure he’d heard right at first. Then, when Flint didn’t say anything else, Oliver allowed himself to start chuckling. “Seriously? That is what all this has been about?” Flint made this funny little high-pitched squeaking sound. Oliver couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing. 

Flint scowled and banged his palm upon the steering wheel. “Damn it, Wood! It’s not funny.”

Oliver shook his head. “Oh, it’s kind of funny.” 

Flint shook his head. “It’s not.”

“It is, a little.” Oliver tried his best to stop laughing. “Flint, if you’ve got to go, just pull over somewhere and go. It’ll only take a second and it’s not going to make us late to the wedding.”

Flint’s teeth were clenched and his jaw set. His eyes, which should have been filled with anger, were filled with pain instead. “There is nowhere to go,” he whispered. One hand gripped the steering wheel and the other went down, not rubbing at his thigh again but grabbing his crotch. Apparently now that the secret was out, he felt it was safe to do what he had to. Oliver watched the hand clench, release, and grip again, harder, holding himself securely. “I thought I’d pull over at the first city—”

“Oh, baby, there are no cities up in the Highlands.”

Sneering slightly, “I realize that. Now. Then I figured the first little town I got to, I’d pull over at a café or petrol station. But we have not passed a single one since it got bad.” He swallowed hard. “And these roads don’t have any shoulders at all. There’s nowhere I can just pull over and relieve myself.” 

Oliver looked around. Flint was right about the road. If they stopped for Marcus to get out, there was no room for anyone to go around them without veering into the oncoming traffic lane. And that would be a bad idea, given the sudden twists and turns of the road and the drop-offs on one side or another. Moreover, anyone coming up behind them might not see that they had stopped until they were right on top of them. The last thing they needed was to get into a car accident just because Marcus Flint had to have a wee. “How bad is it?” Oliver asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too late for that. Come  on, how bad is it?”   
  
“Bad,” Flint replied reluctantly. “I have really got to go.” He jiggled the leg that he wasn’t using for driving the car with its automatic transmission. “I do not think I have a chance of making it to the wedding before I burst.” His grip tightened and his hand shook. “I’m almost leaking now.” 

“Aww, I’m sorry.” Oliver tried to be sympathetic, but he could not help his gaze falling on Flint’s crotch. He knew what straining and holding was happening beneath that thick wool kilt. “What would help, do you think?”

Flint gave a harsh, pitiful laugh. “Pissing!” he exclaimed. “That’s what would help!”

With a nod and a rub of Flint’s shoulder, “All right. That was a stupid thing for me to say. What about fresh air? That will help take your mind off it.” 

Oliver pressed down the button and his window went down just as Flint yelled “No!” 

As the window began lowering, Flint’s nostrils began twitching. Instinctively, he brought his hand up to his face, intending to pinch his nose. But he gasped and moaned “Oh noooo!” and grabbed his crotch again. Anxious, he rocked in his seat as much as his seatbelt would allow. “I’m gonna…I’m  gonna… gonna…” 

“Pee?” Oliver volunteered.

But Flint shook his head and closed his eyes. On the tip of his tongue was the word he’d meant to say: “sneeze.” His nostrils widened as he took in a sharp, strong breath. Then he snapped forward with a mighty, “ _HURCHooo!_ ” With one hand on the steering wheel and the other grabbing his junk, he couldn’t do anything about his twitching nose. He sneezed freely, jerking, and holding himself as tight as possible to keep from peeing. “I…” he said, gasping around the urges to sneeze. “ _hah-URShhhh! Snufffff! Hah-hah-hahCHOOO! Hurchooo! Hah-_ Hay fever… _hah-URShooo!_ Re… _huhSHOO!_ Remem… mem... _Urshuhhh!_ Remember? _Snrfffff!_ ” 

“Shit!” He _had_ in fact forgotten about his hay fever. Oliver pushed the button to raise the window, but it went slowly, torturing Flint a little longer than it needed to. Then he pulled his wand out and charmed the car to stay on the road; he didn’t want them to get into a car accident because of this.

Even when the window was up, Flint’s nose still tickled. “ _HURShooo!_ ” He moaned again and reached under his kilt, swiftly, and clutched himself differently. “Oh no… no no no no! _Sniff! Hah… hahChishhh!_ I’m… ” He opened his eyes and looked pleadingly at Oliver. Oliver fumbled around, finally finding a tissue box in the glove compartment. He pulled out a whole bunch of tissues, pressing the layers to Flint’s nose. Flint took a deep breath and blew his nose, eyes closed again. Feeling better, he nodded and Oliver lowered the tissues. Flint relaxed, then tensed up again. “Wait! I… need… _hah… hahhh… hahhh!_ ” The build-up was fast—so fast—but Oliver had the tissues back in place, holding them as Flint jerked forward again, nose finding the tissues to smother the sneeze. “ _hahh-URSHffffffff!_ ” Flint leaned back in the driver’s seat and whimpered. “Wood,” he whispered. “I… “

“Another sneeze?” Oliver asked, getting the tissues ready again. 

Flint nodded down toward his crotch. “No… I… I think I…” He bit his lower lip. “I think I wet a little.” 

“Oh, aye,” Oliver understood. He pulled out some fresh tissues and pulled up the man’s kilt. Being tender and careful, Oliver wiped the tip of the man’s cock. Flint squirmed, which did not make the task any easier. And he kept squeezing his cock, desperate to keep hold of himself. But Oliver wiped him dry. “You didn’t go as much as you think,” Oliver reassured him. “It was just a little.” Flint’s cock twitched at the touch, far too sensitive to endure any more rubbing.

Flint shook his head. “I really have to pee. Have to pee so bad. _So bad!_ Can’t… can’t hold it, Olly!” 

“You can,” Oliver said, his heart sinking to hear Flint use his nickname for a change. He must really have been desperate. “I know you so well, Flint, and I know you can do this.” Flint kept shaking his head. “If you can convince me, a Gryffindor who hated your arse for seven years straight, to go out with you, you can keep a little piss locked up inside you. If you can get stand up to your father when he wanted you to join the Death Eaters, you can overcome a little pee desperation. If you can get out of the Caerphilly Catapults chasers performing the Parkin’s Pincer on you and score on the escape, you can hold on longer.” A slight smile found its way to Flint’s face. 

“That was pretty good, wasn’t it?”

“Pretty good? Flint, you were fucking amazing!” Oliver reached over and stroked Flint’s arm. “But, then, you’re always amazing when you fuck.”

Flint gave a chuckle, and then he gasped. “Oh Merlin! It’s not working.” He squeezed and squeezed and looked up at the roof of the car, clenching his teeth. “I want to hold on longer. I do. I’m sorry. I don’t want to have an accident here in this rental.” 

“It’ll be all right,” Oliver said, still trying to keep things light. “I am pretty sure it’s Scotch guarded. Get it? Because we’re in Scotland?” 

Flint glanced at him with a look at told Oliver that: one, Flint had no idea what Scotch guarding was and, two, Flint was far from feeling amused. “If I lose control… if I pee… it’ll be bad. It’s not even our car.” He shook his head. “I can’t pee… but I can’t hold it much longer. I really can’t. I’m not going to have a choice pretty soon.”  He looked around, as if hoping to see a place to pull the car over and a restroom standing out in the middle of the wilderness. “I don’t want to meet your family with a wet kilt and smelling like piss. I don’t want to let you down.” He sounded close to tears. 

 Oliver looked around as well, wondering if there were something he could do. There was the box of tissues, but even if Flint peed into the box, there weren’t enough tissues to handle the flow. The tissues might help if Flint had another sneezing fit, but otherwise they were useless. And all their bags were in the trunk of the car, so their contents would be of no use either. It was then that Oliver’s gaze fell upon the two plastic bottles of soda in the car’s cup holders. They were both half full, but both together might work. Oliver bounced in his seat. “The bottles, Flint!” He grabbed one and held it up, the soda inside sloshing and fizzing. 

Flint moaned. “Don’t!”

“Sorry.” Oliver lowered the bottle. “But you can go in the bottles. All we have to do is get you to aim that lovely cock of yours and then you can let go and wee to your heart’s desire.” 

Oliver thought it was a brilliant solution, but Flint continued to shake his head. “It’s not empty. Not enough space to… oh fuck!” He bent forward in his seat.

“What is it?” Oliver rubbed a hand on Flint’s back. 

“Spasm,” Flint said, teeth gritted. “Ihavetowee. Ihavetowee. Ihaveto _wee!_ ” He bounced in his seat. He pressed his legs together. He bounced his free leg up and down. And he bounced some more. “Fine,” he said through his teeth. “We’ll… we’ll try the bottles. Just… hurry, Olly?”

There it was again—the name. Oliver felt horribly sorry for him and knew he needed help. And he wasn’t a Gryffindor for nothing; they were good at saving people in need. And if that meant downing two half-filled bottles of soda, that’s what he’d have to do. The important question was: could he do it without laughing his arse off? 

Oliver unscrewed the cap to one and lifted the bottle to his lips. His mouth filled with soda and he swallowed in a forceful gulp. Another gulp, this one larger and audible. Flint whimpered at the sound and Oliver looked over to see him still squirming worriedly. Oliver couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. “Mmm.” He swallowed again. “Sure you don’t want a little, Flint?”

“Damn you, Wood.” 

Ah. That was better. Back to calling him by his surname now. Oliver smiled as he finished off the first bottle. He repressed a burp and then went for the second bottle. “Do you want to pee in one now and wait for me to drink the next one?”

“I’m not going to be able to stop once I start,” Flint warned. 

Oliver held up the second bottle of soda, observing the level. His stomach already felt a bit full and bubbly. He knew he wouldn’t be able to gulp this one down as quickly. His chest already burned a little from the fizziness. Oliver burped again, this time unrestrained. “Oh, excuse me.” 

“I’m not sure I can hold on,” said Flint. “Don’t think I can last. Oh fuck…  oh no…” He winced. “I think I might have leaked a little more. Where are the tissues?”

Oliver pulled a few more tissues out of the box and wiped the head of Marcus’ cock. It wasn’t wet, though. “You’re just imaging things now. You are warm and sweating a bit, but you didn’t spurt again.” 

“Wood, quit talking about this. Just drink the rest down before I do the lot! Hurry!”

Oliver opened the bottle and took a few sips. He wished he were thirstier.

“Hurry?” 

He drank, slowly, with the liquid sloshing about. 

Flint closed his eyes. “I’m definitely not going to make it.” 

Oliver drank some more. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

“Oh, I’m going to wet myself… I’m… I’m going to wet…”

Oliver tipped the bottle, drinking nearly half of it down. 

“I think it’s too late!” Flint squeezed himself again, pressing his thumb to the tip of his cock. 

Oliver reached over and threw his hand upon Flint’s chest. He felt about and found the right spot. He tweaked Flint’s nipple. 

Flint gasped and squirmed. “Oh!”

“How does that feel?” Oliver asked, smiling. “Feeling a tingle?” 

Flint nodded, his mouth dropping open. He closed his eyes. “Oh yes.”

Knowing all too well how to turn Marcus Flint on, Oliver pinched the man’s nipples a few more times and then ran his hand down and fondled the man’s balls. They were hot and slightly damp with sweat. But the touch made Flint moan. “Do you have to piss still?”  Oliver asked.

Flint nodded again. “But… now I need to…”

Oliver grinned. “Sneeze?”

Flint grinned. “No,” he whispered. “Not this time.” He was hard against Oliver’s hand. They both knew it couldn’t go any further or Flint really would lose it. But the hard-on bought them time. Time for Flint to get a hold of himself. Time for Oliver to finish off the rest of the soda. Time for Oliver to lean over and kiss Flint’s cheek. 

Oliver unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over further, holding the bottle between the man’s strong thighs. “Come on then, babe.”

“I have to pee.”

“Aye,” Oliver laughed. “I know. So get your cock in place.”

“I have to pee.”

“Right. C’mon then.” Oliver helped Flint position himself, the head of his cock up against the mouth of the plastic bottle. 

“I have to pee!”

“So do it already!” 

It took a second for Flint’s body to realize he was allowed to go. His methods of holding on so long took a moment to relax and back away. But when he was able to, a small jet of piss shot from the end of his cock, right into the bottle. They both watched as a little more dribbled out, followed by another strong, spurt. There was a pause, where Flint closed his eyes and Oliver kissed his cheek again. And then the flow began in earnest. Oliver kept hold of the bottle and Flint kept hold of his cock, and Flint pissed everything he’d been holding back all day. It was a gush, a flood, and one that showed absolutely no sign of stopping any time soon.

Oliver knew he should keep his eye on the bottle, not wanting one of these curves or bumps in the road to jostle them and break the connection. But he was mesmerized by the expression of pure ecstasy on his lover’s face. It was the look Flint always got after an especially good orgasm, and now he had it because of this amazing amount of relief. 

Oliver listened to the sound of the pee in the bottle, aware that it was swiftly filling. He tugged on Flint’s arm. “We’re going to have to switch soon. Can you stop?”

Flint shook his head. “Can’t… stop…” 

“You’re going to have to.”

“Nuh-uh. Just switch them quickly.” 

Laughing, Oliver got the second bottle ready. “I can move quickly, but not quickly enough. I’m sure you’ll piss yourself if you don’t stop.”

“Can’t stop,” Flint repeated. “Feels too good. I’ll take my chances. Oh Merlin this is good. So good to finally pee…” 

So, with a deep breath, and not wanting to wait until the very last possible second, Oliver held the two bottles side by side. The switch couldn’t have gone better, but a bit of piss did hit the side of his hand and a few drops fell on the kilt. Flint moaned happily as his cock met the mouth of the new bottle and his piss found a perfectly empty bottle to fill. “There we go,” Oliver said. “Let it all out now.” 

Flint nodded with several smooth bobs of the head. He sighed happily. “Feels so good.”

“How good?” Oliver chuckled. 

“Good enough to need a wank when I’m done, I think. And a half dozen _Scourgify_ spells for good measure. Oh Merlin, this is good. I fucking love a good wee.” 

“Aye, and that’s the real reason you held out so long?” he joked.

Flint opened his eyes and looked at Oliver. He didn’t answer right away, and Oliver felt a little jolt in his own crotch at the lack of answer. 

“I see. Well, we’ll talk about this later then, kinky boy.”

A flash of threatening anger showed in Flint’s eyes. “If you breathe one word of it to anyone…”

Laughing right out loud again, “I’ve never even introduced someone to my family. I am certainly not going to mention that this boyfriend of mine is partial to a little piss play. I’ll do my best not to mention it during the wedding toast. Ha! Your secret is safe with me.” 

The flow stopped at last, ending with a tiny little dribble and a few last drops. 

“Are you done?” Oliver asked, just to be sure.

Flint gave it another second, twitching slightly as he made sure he was finished. And then, as Oliver capped the bottles, Flint grew quite hard. He rubbed his hand up and down his cock and moaned again. “Sorry, Olly. I…”

Oliver leaned over and pressed a kiss to Flint’s lips. “Oh, quit your complaining. Just let it out. You know I love watching you wank.” He watched as Flint efficiently brought himself to orgasm, giving a strangled cry as he came. After cleaning up, he straightened up in his seat and turned his attention back to the driving. 

They sat in silence for a while, watching the scenery fly past their windows. Oliver reached out and took Flint’s hand after a while and they enjoyed the drive together, with Oliver trying not to fall asleep again from the quiet and the gentle, constant motion of the car. 

“Shouldn’t be long now,” Oliver said after a while. Soon they would be surrounded by hundreds of Oliver’s family members, staying at the inn down the road from Oliver’s boyhood home. Oliver should have been excited about that, but he shifted in his seat and then began to chuckle.

“What is it?” Flint asked, turning off onto a small road that led to Oliver’s home town. 

Oliver nodded toward the bottles. “Um, now _I’ve_ gotta pee.”


End file.
